Chapter Eight – A New Enemy

As the darkness of night-time fell over Alagaësia, so did the spectres of the dead of Yazuac. They descended from the heavens and haunted Harry's dreams, as Voldemort had done a million years ago. They stood there impassively, with piercing blue eyes and white skin, looking like fearsome ghouls from centuries past, waiting for him to wake. But Harry couldn't awaken; for if he did, he knew he wouldn't be able to sleep again. Not with the lives he had taken branded in his mind and soul. Did he have a soul anymore? Was it doomed to be torn apart as Voldemort's had been? After all, murder was the greatest evil.

After spending an eternity in this nightmare, he was released. The view he had rippled like water on a lake and when it cleared again, he was standing beside the Burrow, knee-deep in mucky water within one of the surrounding fields. The house was burning, a vast plume of black smoke engulfing the sky like the thunderclouds of an almighty storm. There were bodies outside, spread along the ground. He counted ten – eight with flaming red hair, one with a dazzling blonde head, and the other with a mane of bushy hair. Harry wanted to scream in terror, but found that he couldn't open his mouth to get the sound out. He hated dreams like that. Or was this a dream? He felt strong hands twist his body around so he was staring into the mask of a Death Eater. A wand was shoved into his face; there was a blinding flash of green light…

He awoke gasping, sweat pouring down his face and back. Brom didn't notice – he was too busy leading the group, whilst Eragon was still passed out in the saddle. Harry wished that Brom would stop to let them rest, but the old man was insistent: they had to keep moving, or the Urgals could easily find them once more. Harry didn't like the sound of that at all, so he stowed his objections. Currently his mind was a Rubik's Cube - he couldn't make sense of anything. Brom thought that he might be coming down with a fever, but there was no elevated temperature, nor any feeling of nausea.

After several hours of feeling like absolute crap, Harry was finally permitted the rest he needed when Brom bid him to stop. Enough was enough, he had said. In his mind, Harry had no idea what was happening to him, but in his gut, he had a very bad feeling. That often meant there was trouble ahead. When Brom stopped the horses, Saphira landed beside them. She absolutely refused to be parted from all of them, especially Eragon, even for one night.

'I won't leave him until I know what is happening,' she told them in a "voice" that brokered no room for argument.

Harry felt safer with her around, so he wouldn't have complained if he was capable in any case. It was always comforting to know that there was a large, overly-protective and occasionally bloodthirsty dragon by your side. Harry stumbled out of Godric's saddle and collapsed onto the makeshift bed that was already waiting for him, courtesy of Brom. His dreams were troubled, as they had been on the road, but he was too exhausted to pay them any mind.

Harry awoke to a blistering fire in the darkness. Feeling groggy, he sat up, wondering what was happening.

'I thought you said "no" to a fire?' he asked Brom, as soon as he had it figured out.

'The need is too dire to pass it by this time. Eragon still hasn't awoken,' the old storyteller replied.

Harry yawned and rose off the ground. He walked over to the fire and sat himself down, grateful for the warmth. Brom was seated across from him, his eyes reflecting firelight and starlight. There was no moon to be seen.

'What's the matter with him?' Harry asked, concerned. He turned his head to look momentarily at his friend, lying beside the fire. Realistically, he could have been sleeping peacefully.

For a moment, Brom didn't answer. He merely continued to stare, apparently pondering the situation. Harry had tried that earlier, and hadn't been able to make heads nor tails of it. Finally, the old man spoke:

'The question isn't "what", but "how". How did Eragon use magic?'

Harry narrowed his eyebrows. 'That's what happened? He used magic?'

Brom nodded.

Harry shook his head in disbelief. 'It doesn't make any sense – magic doesn't exhaust you in such a manner.'

Brom rubbed his beard casually. 'I've had a time to think about this, and I do believe your form of magic is different to our own – the magic of the dragon riders, that is.'

'How do you figure?'

'Your magic requires a… stick-'

'Wand.'

'-a "wand", yes. That appears to be how your magical energy is focused, so I would deduce there is something powerful in your wand that makes such magic possible. Am I correct?' he asked.

'Yes,' Harry replied, 'each wand contains a unique core, through which magic is channelled into… physical being, I guess you could say. My own wand contains the feather of a Phoenix, which is a magical bird from my homeland. You can have other cores, though – Unicorn hair, Dragon Heartstring-'

'I'm sorry, what was that last one?' Saphira interrupted, raising her head and looking at him.

Oh, bugger… Harry thought urgently. He didn't think of how that could upset her before he'd spoken; a grave mistake, clearly. 'Dragon Heartstring…' Harry muttered, looking shamefully at the ground. 'Saphira, I'm certain that they only take the Heartstring from dragons that are… well… dead.'

Saphira narrowed her eyes, appearing unconvinced. She did, however, offer a bit of sympathy, which surprised Harry. 'I can understand that dragons from your homeland are wild, but I'm no happier thinking about it.'

'Nor am I,' Harry admitted to her in earnest. Quickly, he returned to his previous conversation: 'you were saying?'

'Yes – the magic that you can implement draws the necessary energy from the core of your "wand", I believe. Am I correct in saying that?' Brom asked.

'Maybe,' Harry said doubtfully. 'Magic in my homeland requires a wand, yes, but only someone with magical blood can actually use it. It's as if they're two unique codes, both of which are required to access the magic.'

'I see. In any case, your magic clearly doesn't draw energy from your body, else your previous acts would have tired you slightly. On the other hand, using the Ancient language does tap into your own power, which is why it exhausted Eragon upon use. It wouldn't have made him pass out under normal circumstances, however; if it was just me and him, he probably would have forced himself to stay awake. But, since you're here and he trusts you, I daresay he thought the time was right for a little nap.'

'So we could just wake him up if we wanted to?' Harry asked incredulously.

'Yes, but I suggest you don't. It really took a lot out of him, so let him sleep a little longer. When he does awaken, he'll need food and perhaps some rest in the saddle, then he'll be as right as rain. I'm hoping the fire will help as well.'

Harry stared at the old storyteller, playing back the events of previous days in his mind, as well as Brom's vast wealth of knowledge and experience. It was too much to be coincidental.

'You're a Dragon Rider, aren't you?' Harry asked carefully.

For the first time, Brom raised his eyes to meet Harry's. Harry thought he saw something strange in them – a deep kind of sadness, maybe. When Brom didn't answer immediately, Harry knew he was correct.

'Why didn't you tell us?' Harry whispered, more hurt than angry.

Brom closed his eyes and shook his head. 'There was no need to. I once was a dragon rider, yes, but I am no longer. My dragon is long dead, and if it wasn't for me, so would the three of you be.'

'I understand that,' Harry said slowly, 'but why don't you tell Eragon and use your knowledge to help him?'

'I am doing that, Harry. I'm doing it to the best of my ability, but I think you can forgive me for not deciding to drag up the past unnecessarily. And nor am I going to start doing so now; you must promise not to tell Eragon.'

'Why?'

'I have my reasons for not telling him. Suffice it to say, you're just going to have to trust me. Can you do that, boy?'

Harry hesitated, but then nodded sincerely. He had known Brom was a magician ever since their first conversation in Carvahall, but a Dragon Rider was a different matter altogether. In Alagaësia, they were renowned for keeping the peace, not to mention their magical strength and the connection they had with their dragons, which many people overlooked rather too easily in their remembering of the riders. Brom had told them a fair few stories about the subject in their travels, which Harry found incredibly intriguing.

He had kept his tongue about Brom's magic from Eragon and Saphira, but could he push this to the back of his mind as well? It wasn't an easy decision - that much was certain. As Brom had stated so truly, it all boiled down to trust. Trust was a privilege, not a right. And since Harry had trusted Brom from the first time they had met, it felt as though he had earned Harry's silence.

'Yes,' Harry said simply, 'I can.'

To general relief, Brom's wisdom proved true yet again. Eragon awoke some time later, very hungry, but otherwise fine. After a quick meal of wild game that Brom had caught earlier, he sat beside the two of them normally, as though nothing had happened. Harry was amazed – the first time he had done something strange and incredible, which included setting a rather vicious snake on his cousin, he was so shocked that he forgot to hide his expression, and Vernon had locked him in the cupboard under the stairs for a whole week. Harry spent a while exploring the surrounding area to keep boredom at bay. They were camped beside the Ninor River, directly south of Yazuac. Along the riverbank grew ferns, daises and other weeds no more interesting than the grass surrounding them. Beyond the river, heading further south, he could see a vast plain, so large that it continued out to the horizon. It probably kept going past that point, also. If it were daylight, he could maybe see just how far…

When he returned to camp, Brom and Eragon seemed to be arguing heatedly.

'You demand answers with an insolence I have never before see!' Brom shouted. 'Perhaps if you knew what you were asking for, you wouldn't be so quick to do so!'

'Then why don't you stop shouting and tell me?' Eragon retaliated.

Brom sighed when Harry sat down, looking interested. 'And I suppose you want to know as well?'

About a new form of magic, unknown to the Wizarding World? Hell yes.'That depends on what you're talking about,' he instead replied.

Brom ignored him and returned his attention to Eragon. 'I knew this would happen sooner or later,' he admitted. 'All dragon riders had the ability, although some discovered it sooner than you did, whereas others discovered it later in their training.'

'Training?' Eragon raised an eyebrow, whilst Saphira continued to watch the three of them sleepily. Harry smirked to himself at the gesture. Eragon sounded like an over-excited child on Christmas day, not that they would have any clue what Christmas was…

'Yes. There's no point trying to dissuade you from not using this ability, so I shall instead attempt to teach you how to control it. I don't want you to kill or dismember yourself, after all…' Brom said darkly.

'So…' Harry began, 'first lesson?'

'Tomorrow,' Brom said haughtily, flashing him a look of irritation. 'You both need to rest, and I could do with a few hours myself.'

He was in a cold, dark room, empty of furniture and other people. There were no doors, nor windows. The walls, ceiling and floor were completely bare, neither painted nor decorated. Suddenly, he was surrounded by Urgals – at least thirty of them. He could not reason with the brutes, so he drew his sword and began to cut through them at lightning-pace. He slashed, he stabbed, he parried… every time his sword made an offensive move, one of the foul creatures fell to the ground, dead. In a flash of steel, a limb would fly across the room and his face would be covered in blood.

He moved faster than he could in real life, so that none could stand before him. After the bloody engagement, a nagging question sprung to the top of his mind: where am I?

His "thought" must have been out loud, for a voice answered him from the shadows. 'You are where I brought you to, Potter – Alagaësia.'

'What are you talking about?' Harry asked, frightened. 'Isn't this a dream?'

'It is, but I am real, Potter, and I am speaking to you now, in reality.'

'Who are you? Voldemort?'

'Do I sound like Voldemort?'

'No, but who else could you possibly be?'

'His creation.'

'What the hell are you talking about?' Harry shouted, looking all around him. He still saw no one, except for the dead bodies on the floor. The voice was coming from… nowhere. He started to panic, although he wasn't quite certain why. Then he realised something terrible: if this was a dream, he couldn't bring himself to wake up. It was like King's Cross all over again, only he wasn't… well, he couldn't have died, could he?

The man – for it was a man's voice – laughed wickedly. 'All in good time, Potter. There is much you do not know.'

Harry felt very uneasy; there was something very off happening here and he didn't like it at all.

'"Voldemort's final victory",' the man began to speak. 'I am what remains of him; a new type of Horcrux.'

'That's impossible! The Horcruxes were all destroyed! He only created six!'

'Seven, if we include the piece of his soul lodged in your body,' the man said conversationally. 'However, in life, he set about making new spells. TERRIBLE spells. Spells that would, upon his death, transport him to a new body without the use of a typical Horcrux.'

Harry shook his head in disbelief. 'This is ridiculous. Nobody knows how to do anything like that, and even if Voldemort did, then why isn't he here now?'

'Unfortunately for him, the magic did not work as successfully as planned. Unsurprising, really, when you consider that it had never been tried or tested before.'

'Why not?'

The man laughed, making hairs on the back of Harry's neck stand up. With a sudden flash, a figure appeared in front of Harry. He saw with horrible shock that it wasn't Voldemort…

'You look like me!' Harry shouted, feeling an odd combination of fear, anger and confusion; he didn't look exactly like Harry – he had a mixture of features from both Harry and Voldemort. Harry's eyes, nose and mop of black hair, although that particular feature was brown, as Tom Riddle's had once been. He also had the same mouth that Riddle had, which was curled back in a horrible sneer. He looked like the twisted love-child of Harry and Voldemort. Harry shuttered as he imagined that.

The Horcrux laughed again; a twisted laugh, so like Voldemort's. 'Indeed I do. You see, Potter,I am what remains of the fragment of Voldemort's soul lodged in your body. Perhaps Dumbledore forgot to tell you, but only a few things can destroy a Horcrux, and the killing curse is not one of them. Instead, it created an effect never before seen: a real-life purgatory that you witnessed first-hand. Before you chose to return to life from King's Cross once more, I had an opportunity. I awoke inside you, during your moment of… helplessness, when your mind was separated from your body. You were unable to hold me back, so I swiftly found a part of you to reside in, from where I can awaken whenever I so please.'

'It can't be,' Harry said in disbelief. 'You can't be… real.'

'Oh? Then how do you explain losing control of your body under Malfoy Manor? It was I, Potter. Your opposite. Your alter ego, so to say,' the Horcrux replied, smiling widely. That only served to disconcert Harry even further.

'If you weren't destroyed, then what was that thing with me and Dumbledore at King's Cross?' Harry asked.

'An illusion,' the Horcrux replied simply.

'What do I call you, then?' Harry asked, abhorred by this abomination before him. 'Do you have a name?'

'Tom Riddle,' it replied carefully, apparently thinking hard. 'I can choose whichever name I so please, and I happen to think Voldemort sounds mediocre. He was mediocre, point in fact.'

Harry and Riddle stared at each other; one was apparently happy, the other very confused.

'I don't understand,' Harry said bluntly.

Riddle raised an eyebrow in mild surprise. 'Oh? Which part?'

'Everything! If Voldemort was creating new spells, how could you have ended up inside my body? Why not his? If you came to this form when I died, what was the purpose of the blood in that Portkey? And what the hell do you want from me!' Harry shouted. The noise reverberated off the walls and echoed for half a lifetime before stopping abruptly.

Riddle smirked. 'I believe I will answer those questions in order: firstly, I ended up in here' – Riddle spread his arms, gesturing at the room – 'because Voldemort was experimenting on the night your parents died. Unfortunately for him, he went too far and his soul became very fragile as a result. The killing curse was enough to rip it apart, and I was forced to attach myself to the only living creature in the room – you. While the rest of his soul escaped to his first Horcrux, I instead had to choose you.

'Secondly, a year after his return, my old friend realised that it was possible he could be defeated again. Of course, he never admitted this to anyone, but he did create an escape plan.'

'He found a way to teleport to Alagaësia,' Harry nodded, listening intently.

'Yes… I never found out how, as I have been with you the whole time, however. As you can guess, he never got a chance to use his means of escape, because his desire to kill you was much stronger than his will to simply "run away". He forced Lucius Malfoy to hide the Portkey under his manor, although he never told him what it was, only that it was more valuable than his life. The Portkey was good for one trip only, I'm afraid, so you can forget about anybody discovering where you are.'

'I gave up on that hope a long time ago.'

'Good. You wouldn't want to waste away, hoping for that which will never happen. The blood had a single task: to make the Portkey even more powerful, so it could transport one to this land.'

'Wait a minute,' Harry exclaimed. 'You said you've been with me the whole time. How do you know all this?'

Riddle smirked once more. 'Your connection with Voldemort. Whilst you were momentarily connected to him throughout the years, I had a few seconds to reach out and read sections of his mind at a time. I discovered the portkey during the final battle, when you purposefully connected with him. He was momentarily thinking about escaping, you see.

'Imagine my joy when I realised I could come to this land, and call it my own! No hope of any other wizards stopping me!' Riddle shouted, sounding triumphant.

Harry felt his blood go cold. 'How do you still exist? With Voldemort dead, shouldn't you have gone with him?'

'No. The Horcruxes must be destroyed before the creator can be killed, but I am not a regular Horcrux. I have been attached to you, so I have grown independent of Voldemort. Quite the opposite of your theory, Potter: when he died, I started to gain strength because the rest of his soul vanished, leaving me room to grow. True, I was temporarily weakened from the effort of controlling you at Malfoy Manor, but I have made up for that now, and added so much more.

'And now, Potter, we come to your last question. What do I want with you? I do not want anything from you. You have served your purpose by being my temporary vessel, but now I have no further need of you. At last, I have the strength to survive on my own, and rule this land!'

Harry glared at Riddle, disgusted even more than he had been earlier. 'You're even worse than he was, you know.'

Riddle smiled for the umpteenth time. 'I do know. But at the same time, I have both your abilities as well as his entire strength to build upon. Once I do that, I will be unstoppable. Before I go, I feel I owe you an explanation, Potter. The whole reason for this conversation is to distract you while you're sleeping. I knew if I could get you interested enough I would have no reason to keep you here – in your mind – using my own power.'

Harry's heart began to beat furiously. 'A distraction for what?'

Riddle tilted his head slightly to the side. 'Why, so I can escape, of course. Your mind was involuntarily suppressing my own, but now it's trapped inside this little creation of mine. I'm afraid you will feel severe pain throughout the process. I ask only that you stay out of my way as I rule Alagaësia, and I will spare your life in return. Cross me… and you will die. Goodbye, Harry Potter.'

The room seemed to disappear in a whirlwind of sickening pain, protruding straight from Harry's chest. His eyes snapped open, just as he felt a great pressure building up beside his heart. Gasping in pain, he ripped his shirt open and saw to his horror that something appeared to be bulging inside his upper torso. Slowly, it began to force itself outwards, until Harry was sick with pain. With a flash of horror, he remembered that scene from the film Alien and was afraid that some creature was about to burst through his body, before scampering away.

That didn't happen, however. Instead, the… thing began to retreat back inwards, before slowly travelling upwards. Harry felt his heart begin to race as he realised it was heading for his throat. He tried to call for help, but only managed a strangled cry of pain. In an instant Saphira woke up, having the best hearing, and immediately saw what was happening. She roared to wake up Brom and Eragon and succeeded in doing so. They were there immediately; trying to help him stay calm as something began to crawl up his throat, cutting off the flow of air.

The pain was so great that Harry was about to pass out, but something prevented him from doing so.

Riddle.

As what would happen if you stuck your fingers down your throat, Harry threw up, but instead of the usual fragments of half-digested food from his stomach, what appeared to be a thick black shadow came flying out and landed solid on the ground beside the four of them. At the very least, there was an overwhelming release from the excruciating, torturous pain that Harry had felt only moments ago, but what it meant was much, much worse.

Quickly, the shadow began to change shape, growing larger each time. Harry was afraid to approach it and clearly, Eragon and Brom felt the same way. When the thing formed into a fully-grown man, Harry knew it was over. A much more terrible version of himself had come to life, with all of Voldemort's strengths and abilities. Fleetingly, he saw Riddle's face grin evilly at him, before a blast of white light encompassed the entire camp, blinding everybody. When his sight returned seconds later, Harry saw Riddle no more. Somehow, he had disappeared. With the pain residing, Harry remembered the divulged sections of Riddle's plans. He wanted everything for himself, at the expense of thousands of others. At that point, Harry thought one thing only:

I have a new enemy.

A:N - (Edited note) I know this section may be confusing for some people, but bear with me. All will be explained in good time. This development has occurred for only one reason, which I have now revealed in Chapter Eleven.